Discovering the mother tongue - Page 2
From Griffith REVIEW Edition 3: Webs of Power
© Copyright Griffith University & the author.
Written by Lee Kofman
WHEN I ARRIVED IN AUSTRALIA, NEAR THE TIME of the millennium celebrations, I was no longer a Russian but an Israeli who had immigrated to Australia. My Russian roots had long since rotted. I strolled around the Melbourne streets, watching Indians in their elaborate turbans, Asians speaking loudly in their native tongues and Australians calmly sipping wine in the modern cafés. I was fascinated and overwhelmed by the diversity. I thought to myself that, perhaps, this move would be easier and I wouldn't have to find another new identity.
As a new immigrant, I couldn't be too choosy about work. So when friends found a job for me in a Russian video library, I couldn't refuse. I was, however, terrified. I recalled the Russians in Israel (as I had seen them from my Tel-Avivian bubble) – lacking confidence, not speaking Hebrew, seemingly rootless and living on the edge of society. I didn't want to be one of them there, so why would I mix with them here?
The shock was mutual. In the video library I found myself surrounded by my childhood movies, but also by the new Russian post-communist cinema, which seemed foreign and exotic. I became acquainted with the latest Russian pop music and encountered Russians very different from those I'd come across in Israel. Even in Melbourne, many Russians stand out because of their appearance. The women seem to be competing with each other in make-up quantity and hair volume; the men insist on decorating themselves with as many silver and gold teeth as possible. Yet being different didn't mean they were frightened by Australian society or made fun of it. It seems Australian Russians have willingly adopted certain local customs, such as waiting patiently in queues and, in general, are satisfied with their new country. When talking about the locals they sound like scolding, but loving parents: "No, they are not very cultured; one can't compare the Moscow theatre to the local one. But they are such nice people ..."
The Russian customers were just as confused by my appearance in their video library. I was to learn quickly that this place in East St Kilda didn't match its modest name. It was unlike Blockbuster or Video Ezy. The Russian video library is a cultural centre. It supplies the community with movies, tapes of the Russian television shows and series they miss. The library provides other needs as well: books, dictionaries, newspapers and magazines, and even traditional Russian foods, such as pelmeni (a kind of ravioli). This modest place is a social centre. People can always sit down here and rest after an exhausting shopping campaign in Coles, get filled in on the latest gossip, meet acquaintances and find someone to listen when they pour their hearts out.
It was a shock when a new worker appeared unexpectedly in their second home, a stranger with an exotic, un-Russian name, Lee. They were unable to accept that someone – who spoke their mother tongue and was in charge of their beloved movies – would not be called Natasha or Lena. They kept changing my name, distorting it into Lia or Leechka, sounds more comprehensible to the Russian ear. After some time, as I improved my Russian and expanded my cultural horizons, my clients accepted my presence; they even began to adopt me and show me (the way you might show a tourist), how they spent their leisure time.
Their favorite entertainment is found in the Russian restaurants in the south-eastern suburbs. Like the video library, they have little in common with other ethnic restaurants. They all serve food but Russian restaurants also provide entertainment and lifestyle. They open mainly on the weekends; the entertainment begins around 8pm and lasts till the early hours. There is no menu. Dishes are served continually on the large tables while a band plays. Between the huge courses, the guests dance to the latest Western hits, modern and classic Russian repertoire, electronic beats and more. Here they celebrate birthdays, engagements or any event with speeches and big bunches of flowers. Everything is in the Russian style: abundant, glittering, full of drama and tempting.
The 25,000-strong Melbourne Russian community has created a self-sufficient community, well-served by its own media: a few radio programs, a community television program and several magazines. Its members organise frequent concerts, artistic evenings (or "Café Musa"), mind-game competitions ("Club Intellect"), musical, humour and seniors' clubs. They have established Russian food shops, a chain of video libraries, a Russian business directory and even a singles' agency. They have their own church and synagogue.
A high percentage of the community emigrated from my family's home town, Odessa, near the Black Sea. The majority– like the Israeli Russians – are of Jewish origin. Their immigration occurred in two waves: during the '70s and later, following the Gorbachev reforms, in the early '90s. A considerable number arrived first in Israel and then moved to Australia. Their memories of Israel tend to be bitter; they remember Israelis as closed and supercilious but think of Australians as "friendly". Their Jewish identity is very frail, which perhaps partly explains the failure of their integration into Israeli society. Growing up in Russia, they were uprooted from Jewish culture and history, which led some to deny their heritage and change their surnames.
It deeply saddens me that Israel is so wretched a country that it is compelled to treat its immigrants harshly. I wish its residents could soften. The relatively easy lifestyle here significantly eases the lives of Australia's immigrants. The main difference between the two immigration streams is the sense of belonging. Many Australian Russians consider Australia their "second homeland", if not their first.
Despite this Melbourne's Russians lead – as do their Israeli brothers – a cloistered life, ruled by its own codes. Community members tend to befriend each other. The Jewish Russians are hardly involved in the local Jewish community and within the wider, Australian, context; a political leadership has failed to emerge from within this community even though many Russians are successful business people, professionals and artists. Nostalgia is strong, despite what one of my Russian friends says: "Nostalgia is when you mistake the loss of your youth for the loss of a place."
SIMONIDES, AN ANCIENT GREEK POET, SAID: "Always expect the unexpected." Just four years ago I would never have imagined myself living in Australia, improving my Russian and making friends among Russians as well as Australians. This second immigration has done something to my personal identity, made it more flexible and enriched it. I no longer need to declare loudly: "I'm Israeli." But neither can I say that I'm Russian or Australian.
Sometimes, while spending time with my Russian friends, someone will pull out a guitar and play some famous Russian melodies. I see the excitement in people's eyes, the memories awakening. Often I join in the singing and they clap me. "This is an Israeli writer," they proudly introduce me to their friends, even though they've never read any of the books I've written in Hebrew – the language I think in and dream in. Today I'm certain that no matter how long I might spend in the company of my former compatriots, dancing in their restaurants and eating their food, I will never perceive the world as they do. I'm the one who spent her childhood in the Communist Russia and this is all I know. My Russian friends also lived through glasnost and perestroika and saw Russia without communism. And this is the main difference. Their memories are different from mine. I will always remain the exotic stranger, the ex-IDF (Israeli Defence Force) soldier, who, incidentally, can speak their language.
And it's okay. Honestly. Slowly, as the years pass, I learn the advantages of being a "mini crossroad of cultures" where Cyrillic, Semitic and Latin meet. ♦